


Sam Wesson, FBI

by hannahindie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, F/M, Reader Insert, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, canon violence, han writes the thing, sam x reader - Freeform, spn fanfic, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahindie/pseuds/hannahindie
Summary: You go to work expecting a normal day at the bar when two FBI agents stroll in and interrupt your regularly scheduled programming. Is the handsome stranger who he says he is? Unfortunately for you, you’re about to find out the hard way.





	Sam Wesson, FBI

I woke up this morning thinking it was just another day, and holy hell, was I ever wrong. I don’t think I have ever been more unprepared in my life. And this is coming from a girl that once spent the evening tending bar for a Hell’s Angel birthday party.

I’m wiping down the bar when Sarah walks over and jabs me hard, right in the ribs. I swear under my breath and glare at her, “What the hell was that for?”

She jerks her chin towards the door and grins, “Did you see the two walking, talking hunks of sex that just walked in?”

I roll my eyes, “Literally every single guy that walks through that door earns that title from you. Unlike you, I’m actually working.” I pick up a glass and start swirling the dishtowel around the smooth surface and purposely avoid looking up.

Sarah groans, “Come on, look at them, I promise it’s worth it this time.”

I sit the glass down a little more forcefully than necessary, “Fine, but this is it, you’ve used all of your pretty man cards for the evening-” My thought is interrupted when I look up and see two men in suits standing near the door talking quietly to each other as they look around the bar. “Okay, so you weren’t wrong.”

She leans her elbows on the bar and props her chin in one hand. “See?” she sighs. “I wonder why they’re here? They look like police officers. Think they’re police officers?”

I pick the glass back up, but I’m not really paying attention to what I’m doing anymore. I’m too busy staring at the taller of the two men. “Nah, they aren’t police. Have you seen any police officers in this podunk town that look like that? They look more like FBI or something.”

“Oooo, FBI! I hope so…that’s hot.”

“You’re an idiot, Sarah. Truly.” The two men turn their attention to the bar, and I fumble the glass back onto the rack and reach for the next one. “Quit staring at them, Sarah, you’re being awkward.”

“No more awkward than you. You’ve been washing that same glass for like five minutes,” she scoffs.

“I’ll have you know, this is a different glass.” I look back up in time to see the one I have dubbed Tall Man roll his eyes, and then.. _.are they playing rock, paper, scissors?_ It looks like the shorter man lost because now he’s glaring and Tall Man is smirking. Tall Man walks toward the bar as the shorter one claims a booth. Sarah brightens and winks at me.

“I guess I should go wait on my table!” Sarah runs off, which leaves me with Tall Man. Alone. I look up at him…holy shit, I have to look up. This man is even more giant than I originally thought.

“Hello.”

I blink slowly as I try to remember my name. Tall Man is smiling, and you could literally swim in those dimples. I can’t even begin to describe what color his eyes are, but I’m here to tell you that they’re magical.

I clear my throat, “Umm…hi.”

He holds his hand out, “I’m Agent Wesson, but you can call me Sam.” I shake his hand, and it’s like my brain short circuits when I feel how strong he is.

“Agent, huh? Got a badge to go along with that title?” _Y/N, what the hell are you doing?_

He chuckles and pulls a leather wallet from his inside jacket pocket, then flips it open so I can see it. This is straight out of a damn movie.

I nod, “Impressive.”

He snaps it closed and slips the wallet back into his pocket. “So….” He raises an eyebrow as if he’s waiting on me to tell him something important. Oh. That’s right. My name.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

He smiles, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hate to bother you while you’re working, but my partner and I are investigating a couple of disappearances, and we thought maybe the local bar would be a good place to start. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

How can I not know what he’s talking about? I live in a town of maybe five hundred, and at least ten of those people have disappeared in a three week period. Not exactly something that goes unnoticed in a big city, but in a small town, it’s literally all that’s being talked about.

“Yea, I know what you’re talking about. What can I help you with?”

Sam sits down on the stool and crosses his arms in front of him. Out of habit, I grab a clean glass and toss a couple of ice cubes in, fill it with water, then throw a napkin down and sit the drink on top of it. Sam smiles and wraps a huge hand around the glass, and it nearly disappears. Holy balls, his hands are giant. Where did this man even come from?

“Have you noticed anyone that doesn’t fit in lately? Someone that normally isn’t here, or maybe they started acting weirder than normal?”

I laugh. Everyone here is weirder than normal. “No, not really. We have people that drive through on occasion, tourists that swing by here to see ‘The World’s Only Living Three Headed Calf’, but they don’t stick around.”

Sam’s eyes widen, “Three headed calf?”

I snort and then immediately feel the flush creeping across my cheeks. That was smooth. “Yea, three headed calf. But I’ll tell you a secret,” I say as I lower my voice and lean across the bar. He mimics me and suddenly is very close to my face. Oh my God….he smells wonderful. I collect myself enough to finish my story, “It’s just a regular calf with two fake heads mounted on it with a harness. They just change out calves when the other one gets too old.”

Sam laughs, a quiet belly laugh that deepens his dimples, and flips his hair out of his face. “Are you kidding me?”

I shake my head, “Not even a little bit.” I stand back up and Sam leans back on the stool. “But in all seriousness, I haven’t really seen anyone. Sarah might know more than I do.” I look over Sam’s shoulder and groan, “Looks like your partner is getting all the information he’d need from her, though.”

Sam turns in his seat enough to look at his partner’s booth and rolls his eyes. Sarah is leaning against the table and pointing at things on the menu. His partner is not so much looking at the menu on the table as he is Sarah’s chest. Even without being able to see Sarah’s face, I know she’s doing it on purpose, and I can picture the smile she has plastered on her face.

“Of course he is.” Sam looks back at me, and he appears to be about as over it with his partner as I am with Sarah. “Sorry about that, Dean is…well…Dean.”

I laugh, “Don’t worry, Sarah is…Sarah.” We fall silent for a moment, and I can’t help but really look at Sam. His hair is long, too long for an FBI agent, and though his suit is nice, I can tell that it’s inexpensive. His hands are still wrapped around the glass, but I can see that they’re rough, covered in small scars and callouses. He’s got a bruise under the nail of his middle finger, and I wonder where he would have gotten something like that by just investigating.

Sam clears his throat, “Well, I guess we should move on. It’s been very nice talking to you.” He slips a card out of his pocket and slides it across the bar top. “If you think of anything, please let me know, alright?”

I nod, “Yea, sure thing. If you need something stronger than that water, you know where to find me.” Sam smiles at me and winks, and oh that wink. It should be a sin to look like that.

“See you around.” He walks over to the booth and collects Dean, who looks less than thrilled to be leaving Sarah’s charming company, but gets up with a grumble and walks out with Sam. Sarah practically floats back over to the bar and drops down onto one of the stools.

“I’m going to marry that green eyed man. Mark my words, Y/N, I’m going to be Mrs. Sarah Smith.”

I roll my eyes, “Yea, I’m sure that’s a thing that’s going to happen.” I glance back to the door just as I hear the roar of a muscle car speed out of the lot. If those men are actually FBI agents, then I’m the Queen of England.

* * *

“Is it cool if I leave? I’m supposed to meet Dean later, and I need to get ready.” I can hear the whine begin to creep into Sarah’s voice, and it’s not something I feel like dealing with.

I look up from the open register drawer and shrug, “I don’t care. Flip the sign on your way out, would ya?”

I hear the quiet swish of the open sign as it flips over and the bell above the door jingles as Sarah slips out. Although I normally don’t care too much about Sarah’s escapades, I’m a little disappointed that she’s getting to go out with Mr. Green Eyes FBI Agent, and all I have is Sam’s card. I finish counting the drawer and toss the money bag into the safe, then lean against the bar with my back towards the door and pull the already creased card from my pocket.

__**Sam Wesson  
** Federal Bureau of Investigation  
(555) 623-1513 

There’s no address for his office, no mention of even a state. I’m not sure that that matters or means anything, but it’s a little weird. I contemplate giving him a call, but am quickly interrupted by the bell above the door. I groan inwardly; though I had told Sarah to flip the sign, I didn’t tell her to lock the door, and of course she didn’t.

“Listen, you know Wednesday is early night. The sign says closed. Come back tomorrow.”

I hear the click of the lock being turned, and I can feel the panic start to creep in. Get it together, Y/N. I turn slowly to see Hank, one of our regulars, standing by the door. “Hey, Hank. What’s up?”

He takes a step towards the bar, but stays silent. Jesus, that’s disconcerting…and also very un-Hank like. My hand stutters across the shelf just under the bar as I search for the baseball bat I keep on hand for just this very occasion.

“We’re closed, man. If you don’t mind just heading on out, I’ll be glad to get you something tomorrow. On the house, even! Just not tonight.” Hank smiles, and it’s creepy. It’s not his usual friendly smile, and that’s when I notice the blood spatter across his overalls. I finally find the bat and grip it tightly. _Please don’t make me hit him, please please please._ “Did you hear me, Hank? We’re closed. I need you to leave.”

“That’s too bad, I guess. Because I think I like this place, and I don’t plan on leaving. None of these other people have been useful, but you…you will do just fine I think.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I swallow, and it feels like there’s a golf ball jammed in my throat.

“All these…puppets…working their dead end jobs and their farms, spending all their time with their families…it’s disgusting. But here…oh, you’re surrounded by alcohol and gossip, and you just do what you want. You’re alone. It’s what I want, it’s perfect.”

Despite the fear that is coiled tightly in my stomach, I can’t help but let the confusion take over for a second. “Are you….you think being a bartender is everyone’s dream job? Are you serious? I don’t even own this bar. And thanks for the reminder, Hank, I really appreciate it. Totally forgot I had no one there for a minute.”

“I’m not Hank, not really. But if it makes you feel better to refer to me as that until we’re done here, then that’s fine.”

Not Hank? What the hell does he mean by that? While he was talking, he’d made his way around the counter and is now standing behind the bar.

“Just cooperate with me, Y/N, and this will go very quickly. I promise. Hank seems to have rather enjoyed you while he was alive.”

I tighten my grip around the smooth wooden handle of the bat. Screw not hitting him, this son of a bitch is about to get it.

“You know what, cooperation doesn’t seem like a thing I’m going to do. Like you said, I do what I want. And that is not a thing I want to do.”

Not Hank steps towards me just as I pull the bat from its hiding spot. I pull back and swing it as hard as I can; thank God for softball. The bat slams into his jaw with a resounding crack, and for a second I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up. I can actually feel his jaw break as the vibrations roll up the bat, and I nearly drop it.

The man that’s not my friend Hank despite looking exactly like him is gripping the bar top, his knuckles white and his head is down. My chest is heaving, although at this point I’m not sure if it’s because of what I just did or fear, but the air isn’t filling my lungs the way it should be and the room is getting a little spinny. The man straightens up and looks at me, and my stomach threatens yet again to empty itself. His jaw is hanging at an awkward angle, and he slowly reaches up and shoves it back into place with a sickening crunch.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

It’s at this point that I drop the bat. It’s not on purpose, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter now because the world is trying to go black and the bat is not going to be super helpful in a few seconds anyway. I look at Hank again, but he’s starting to look less like Hank and more like…

* * *

My eyes are heavy, but I manage to force them open enough to see a blurry figure standing in front of me. My arms hurt, but when I try to move them, I can’t. I can feel….is that rope? Dammit, I’m tied to a chair. Where the hell did he get rope? I blink to try to get the fuzziness to go away, but immediately regret my decision when I look up to see myself staring at me.

“Am I dead?”

The person standing in front of me laughs, “No, not yet. Had a few things I wanted to talk about first.”

I roll my eyes as I struggle against the rope, “What can you possibly want to talk about? Personally, I have nothing to say to you. Wait…yes…I do. Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that any way to talk to yourself? I don’t think so.” Not Me crosses their arms and smirks, “Aren’t you even a little bit curious as to how this happened?”

I shrug as well as I can with my arms tied behind me, “I mean, you’ve got me there. This is some pretty weird shit, and I’m expecting to wake up at home with a raging hangover or something…because I have clearly indulged in way too much of something recreational. But honestly? I just don’t care. What have I got to lose? It’s better you take me than someone else I guess. If you think being a lonely bartender in some backwoods town is the dream, then that just makes me sad for you. It doesn’t matter to me who or what you are.”

Not Me frowns and puts her hands on her hips. Do I always have that resting bitch face look? I need to work on that.

“You’re no fun. I was hoping we’d get to play a little before I killed you, but you’re ruining it. I think we’re done here.” She pulls a knife from her pocket and walks towards me, stopping in front of my chair. She kneels down and smiles, “Thanks for this, by the way. This lifestyle is going to be perfect for me. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, so this…this will fit like a glove.”

I nod like I’m in agreement, and then, without even thinking, throw myself forward and headbutt Not Me directly in the face. I have never headbutted anyone in my life, and I have to say, I did not anticipate how much that was going to hurt. She falls backward and I land on top of her, chair and all. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t think to tie my legs down, so I manage to scramble out of the floor, over her, and around the bar.

Before I can get close to the door, I feel a hand wrap itself around my hair and yank. If I thought the headbutt hurt, this was like my scalp has been set on fire. “Son of a bitch!” The chair slams back down on the ground, and I find myself pretty much where I started, except in the middle of the floor rather than behind the bar. I can feel blood pouring down my face; my nose is probably broken, but I suppose that’ll just give me more character. The sharp tip of what I assume is a knife is being pressed to my throat, and I groan. It was a valiant effort, but it seems that I just wasn’t fast enough. I’ll give the whole situation a B minus.

“How dare you try something like that on me?! You can’t even begin to hurt me-”

The front door suddenly flies open, and when I say flies open…it’s more like an explosion. Pieces of wood rain down on us, and I hear the tinkling of glass as it hits the floor. My boss is going to have a fit. When I open my eyes, I see Sam standing in the doorway. His suit has been exchanged for jeans, a flannel, and a canvas jacket. This look suits him far more, if I’m being honest. Not really the time to think about it, but hey.

“She might not be able to, but I can,” Sam growls, and despite the situation I’m currently in, it kind of does things to me. It’s now that I realize he’s not just standing there, but he’s also holding a gun. Before Not Me can move, he pulls the trigger and nails her right in the heart. She hits the ground with a thud, and I look at Sam with wide eyes. He crosses the space between us and begins untying my hands.

“You aren’t an FBI agent, are you?”

Sam chuckles, “No…no, I’m not. I’m a hunter.”

I stand up and rub my wrists where the rope has left red burn marks, “Huh. A hunter, huh?” I walk around behind the bar and grab two glasses. “So, what do you hunt?” Sam sits on one of the stools and nods over his shoulder.

“Things like that.”

I nod, pour a shot of whiskey and shoot it, then pour another. “And that thing would be…?”

“A shapeshifter. It’s been killing people all over town and taking their identities.” I pour a second shot for him and slide it across the bar.

“Well, isn’t that just lovely?” I forego using my shot glass and take a swig directly from the bottle as I stare at Not Me lying in a slowly spreading pool of blood. It is incredibly weird to see myself lying there like that, and I have the strangest urge to walk over and close her eyes. It feels like she’s staring at me. I can feel Sam watching me; he’s probably waiting for me to freak out or cry. Honestly, I think I might be in shock.

I take another swig of whiskey, “You kill these things all the time? Seriously, who are you?”

Sam laughs, and the sound of it is strange considering our current situation. “Someone who knows just enough to be dangerous.”

I scoff, “That’s a hell of an answer.” My eyes are drawn back to the dead body on the floor, and Sam glances back over his shoulder.

“Do you want me to move it? I can take care of it pretty quickly.”

I shake my head, “It’s fine…but if you could shift about six inches to your left, that would be swell.” I wipe the back of my hand across my face and grimace as I bump my nose. My hand comes away bloody and I grab a bar towel. “On a scale of one to holy shit, how bad is it?”

Sam tilts his head and smiles, “If you’re asking about the damage…I’d give it a three. If you’re asking about how you look…holy shit.”

I attempt to wipe the rest of the blood away, then toss the towel in the trash. No saving that one.

“I’m not sure how to take that, Sam. Is that even your real name?”

He throws back his shot, then slides the glass back to me. “Sam is. My last name is Winchester.”

“What the hell is up with you and gun names? Maybe try to be a little more original. Holy shit, huh?”

He smiles again, “Yea. But it’s a good thing.” He pauses for a moment, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I know what I’m thinking, and I hope that he is in agreement.

“Well, Y/N, I’d ask you out for a drink, but…” He gestures vaguely at the bar, and I laugh.

“Eh, I was ready to get out of here anyway. You hungry? There’s only one diner other than this place, but it’s open 24/7. I feel like I could go for some pancakes, and I think eating my feelings might be the perfect distraction.”

Sam nods, “Eating your feelings, huh? I thought you were a little too calm considering what you just saw. You sure you’re okay?”

I shrug, “Maybe wait until the shock of seeing myself murdered wears off and ask me again. Although you’ll probably have to drag me out of the fetal position I will undoubtedly curl into. And there’s going to be tears. A lot of tears.”

We walk outside, and I look back at the door. Well, what was left of it. “I should probably tell someone about that…oh well. It’s not like there’s a body in there or anything.”

Sam smiles and _oh my Lord_ he winks again, “Don’t worry, Dean’s on his way to clean up. Sounds like your friend is offering to help, too. You’re in the clear.”

I close my eyes and pump my fist in the air. Leave it to Sarah to be totally okay with cleaning up a ‘crime scene’, no questions asked. She will do anything for a good looking man, although looking at Sam now, I can’t judge. “Yes! Let’s go, Sam Winchester. Those pancakes aren’t going to eat themselves.”


End file.
